Kilgorman Part 51

"Captain Koop," said he to the skipper, "identify the prisoner."

"Most worshipful," replied the sailor, "this is the man we picked up, who said he was a Frenchman, wrecked in the French ship _Zebre_."

"Was that true?" said the judge to me.

"Mynheer, I told you my tale yesterday. I am no Frenchman."

Then Martin was called forward, and looked hard at me with his sinister eyes. An interpreter explained the burgomaster's questions.

"Witness, you state you know the man Gallagher. Is this he?"

"Now I look at him--yes; but I did not know him before with his beard."

"Is he a sailor in the service of the English Government?"

"He is; and no friend to the Irish people, for whom the Dutch republic is fighting. More, by tokens, your honour," added Martin through the interpreter, "now I know him, I know who it was who last night carried away a certain Irish lady under my protection while on her way to the Convent of the Carmelite Nuns."

"What do you say to that?" said the burgomaster to me, with a look of horror, for he was a stout Catholic.

"I don't deny it," said I, curtly; "nor do I deny that this blackguard, instead of trying to defend the lady, tumbled all of a heap with fright off the carriage-box on to the road when I accosted him."

The interpreter smiled as he translated this, and Martin looked round not too well pleased.

"Where is the lady?" demanded the burgomaster.

"That is my affair," said I. "She was carried away from her home by this man against her will. She was rescued from him by me with her own good will, and is now safe."

"With your friend at the Hague, doubtless?"

I made no answer.

"Inquiries have been made as to this friend. She is known, but has disappeared since yesterday."

"What!" I exclaimed, "Biddy gone? And what of--"

"In company with a young lady," said the burgomaster, eyeing me sternly.

"Prisoner, I demand to know where these persons have gone."

"I do not know," said I, and my own bewilderment might have answered for my sincerity.

"I do not believe that," said the burgomaster. "A messenger arrived at her inn with a letter early yesterday, and she and the lady left, it is said by boat, soon after. Do you deny that you sent that message?"

"I do."

"Do you deny that you know who did?"

"I do."

"Do you deny that you know where they have gone?"

"I do," retorted I; "and, if it please your worship, what has all this to do with whether I am a spy or not?"

"This, that a man who has lied in one particular is not to be believed in others. The same reason which induced you to pa.s.s yourself as a Frenchman may explain your refusal to say where the woman McQuilkin has gone. Her house is known to be a resort of spies and foreigners of doubtful character, and your connection with her, and the abduction of the young lady, and your refusal to give any information, are strongly against you."

I am not learned in Dutch logic, and was not convinced now; but apparently my judges were, for I was ordered to be handed over to the military authorities of Amsterdam as a prisoner of war, suspected of being a spy, for them to deal with me as they might consider best.

Before I departed, the burgomaster handed me back my mother's pocket- book, the contents of which he had had translated, and which he was good enough to say appeared not to be incriminating. My pistol he detained for the service of the Dutch republic.

The military authorities at Amsterdam were far too busy to attend to my affairs. They were in the midst of equipping an armament to land on Irish sh.o.r.es and strike at England with the cat's-paw of an Irish rebellion. The place was full of Irishmen, some of whom honestly enough looked to see their country redeemed by Dutch saviours; others, hungry hangers-on, seeking what profit to themselves they could secure from the venture. A few faces, even during the short time I was kept waiting in quarters, seemed familiar to me as of men I had seen in former days in the secret conclaves at my father's cabin or under his honour's roof, and one or two I was certain I had seen that day in Dublin not long since when I was present at a meeting of the United Irishmen.

Little I knew then or for months after that among these very faces, had I looked long enough, I might have seen that of Tim, my brother, or (must I say now?) my brother that was, before he became Tim Gorman of Kilgorman.

But, as I said, the authorities were too busy to inquire into my case, and, taking the word of the Delft burgomaster, locked me up with a batch of other English prisoners to await the issue of the coming war.

For three months I languished here in a dismal dungeon in dismal company and fed on dismal fare. But I who had lodged in the Conciergerie at Paris in "the terror" could afford to think my Dutch hosts lavish in their comforts.

Once and again some new captive brought us news from outside, the purport of which was that the great Irish expedition, after lying for weeks and weeks at the Texel, held prisoner there by the unyielding west wind and by Admiral Duncan, had collapsed like a burst bubble. The troops had all been landed, the ships had returned to refit, and the pack of Irishmen, seeing the hunt up in this quarter, had gone off in full cry to Paris. If the Dutch ventured anything now, it would be against England, and on their own account.

One day towards the end of September a great surprise broke the tedium of our captivity. Our jailer brought an announcement that an exchange of prisoners was in contemplation, and that some twenty of us might reasonably hope to see our native land again in a few days. Whether the fortunate score would be selected according to rank or to seniority of captivity would depend on the prisoners handed over by Admiral Duncan.

It was a pleasing subject of speculation with me, as you may guess. For were the selection to be by seniority, I was excluded; if by rank, as a petty officer in a company which largely consisted of common seamen, I might count with tolerable certainty on my liberty.

The few days that intervened were anxious and wearisome. Should I miss my chance, I had nothing to look for but a prolongation of this wretched existence, with perhaps an ounce of lead, when all was said and done, to end it. If, on the other hand, luck were to favour me, a week hence, who could say, I might be by my little mistress's side at home; for I made no doubt that when I came to inquire at the "White Angel," as I certainly would do, I should find that Biddy had taken her thither, or, if not there, at least to some safe place at which I could hear of her.

In due time came the end to our suspense. The twenty were appointed by rank, and I marched one fine evening out of that wretched dungeon a free man--stay, not quite free. There was no slipping away to the Hague and the "White Angel;" no walking through the port of Amsterdam to inspect the enemy's preparations. We were marched, under arrest, with an escort, in the dark of night, to some little fishing-station among the dunes, where we found an English lugger, attended by two armed Dutch boats, waiting to receive us. On this we embarked, bidding farewell to our captors; but not until the white cliffs of Margate appeared on the western horizon did our Dutch convoy sheer off and leave us in English waters in undisturbed enjoyment of English liberty.

Yet even so, did I still harbour a thought of returning home or seeking the lost, I was destined to disappointment. For from Margate we were marched direct to Sheerness, and there inspected by Lords of the Admiralty, who, without ceremony, told us off to fill vacancies in ships at that moment engaged in active service, promising us, when the present troubles were over, to recompense our hardships and services in some better way.

I found myself under orders to sail forthwith to Yarmouth, there to report myself on board the _Venerable_, the flag-ship of Admiral Duncan himself.

An Admiralty cutter was just then sailing with despatches for the fleet, and on it I embarked the same afternoon, and found myself in Yarmouth Roads next morning.

The admiral's fleet was all in a flutter; for news had only just come that the Dutch admiral, taking advantage of the temporary withdrawal of the English ships from the mouth of the Texel (for Admiral Duncan, after his long cruise there, had been compelled to return to refit his squadron), was setting sail at last, and determined to venture an engagement in the open. Our fleet was wild with joy at the news--as wild as the greyhound who for hours has been straining at his leash with the hare in view is to feel his collar thrown off.

Signals were flying from every mast-head. The last of the barges and b.u.mboats were casting loose. The dull thunder of a salute came from the sh.o.r.e, the yards were manned, sails were unfurling, and the anchor chains were grinding apeak.

At such a moment it was that the Admiralty cutter hove alongside of the _Venerable_, and I found myself a few minutes later lending a hand to haul to the mast-head the blue flag of that most gallant of sea-dogs, Admiral Duncan.

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

THE FAMOUS FIGHT OF OCTOBER THE ELEVENTH.

My readers do not, I hope, expect from me a full, true, and particular account of the glorious sea-fight of October 11, 1797, off Camperdown; for if they do, they will be sadly disappointed. Indeed, it seems to me, the worst person to describe a battle is one who has fought in it.

For if he does his duty, he has no eyes for any business but his own; and as to seeing what is happening along the entire line at any time, it would take an eagle poised in mid-air, with eyes that could penetrate a cloud of smoke, to do it honestly. I am no eagle, and my eyes can carry no further than those of any other plain mortal. I can tell only what I saw. For the rest, the eagles have written their story in books, where any one can read all about the famous victory--and more than all.

There was little time to observe anything in the bustle of our putting out from Yarmouth. The ship was not yet clear of the confusion of her hurried refitting and revictualling. Stores lay about which needed stowing; there were new sails to bend and old ropes to splice; there were decks to swab and guns to polish, hammocks to sling, and ammunition to give out. Yet all worked with so hearty a will, and looked forward so joyously, after eighteen weeks' idleness, to a brush with the enemy, that before sundown all was nearly taut and ship-shape. If anything could help, it was the kindly nod and cheery word of our admiral himself as he paced to and fro among us. A beautiful man he was--a giant to look at, and as gentle as he was tall; yet with a flash in his eye, as he turned his face seaward, that told us that there was not a man in the ship who looked forward with more boyish eagerness to the brush ahead than he. Though it was but for a week, I hold it to this day something to be able to say that I have served under Duncan.